


Touch

by clarkegriffvn



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, and they're both about the same age so ha, its an open arts class, mostly buildup to the smut, only technically, should i continue it????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkegriffvn/pseuds/clarkegriffvn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke runs a figure drawing class to make extra money. Bellamy's in the class to give himself a break from drowning in his History textbooks. For the last session of each group, she models the class herself. Sexytimes ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

It was the last day of her art classes for the year, and this had by far been the best group of students. When the main focus of your lessons is studying the bare human form, you tend to attract a lot of creeps. She learned pretty early on how to defend herself, her models and even the other students in some cases, by dismantling the situation and kicking any jerks out of the room. Believe her, the creeps were weeded out pretty quickly.

Of course, there was the false alarm of Bellamy Blake. Her student, whom she strictly referred to as “Blake”, had almost all of the typical signs of being a creep. He was young and male, very confident and very casual around her. Most non-creep guys were intimidated by Clarke’s forceful style of teaching, but Blake thrived on it. As soon as he discovered Clarke’s first name, he started calling her by it. At first she tried not responding, grating her teeth, but by the last few classes she caved. His questions remained polite, however, so she never had a chance to kick him out.

Plus, he wasn’t that bad of an artist. His paintwork could use some practice, his lines were too sloppy and he had a tough time being aware of negative space, but he was much better than most. Clarke’s classes were open to everyone 18+, and there were some old women with horrible eyesight who couldn’t draw a straight line if they were given a ruler. Or that one guy who literally drew stick people half the time, he was a pain to watch. So in the end, Clarke had mixed feelings about Bellamy Blake. It definitely didn’t help that he was so damn attractive.

And maybe it was those mixed feelings, or maybe it was just because it was her last class of the year, but she was nervous setting up the classroom that morning. Instead of hiring another model, a random face her students didn’t know, Clarke always modeled for the last class of each group. It gave their drawings much more personality, and she liked the results much better. It was also curious to see how her students saw her, dark or light, powerful or meek, and so forth.

Her students filtered in slowly, in ones and twos. Bellamy Blake was the last to arrive (of course), smiling at her on the way in.

"Morning, Clarke," he drawled with an edge in his eyes. She simply nodded back.

"Alright everyone," she began as Bellamy took his seat. "Today, as you all know, is our last session, so make it count. To switch things up, I’m going to let you choose whatever medium you want. You’ll be doing a number of rough sketches, then a detailed full-body piece, all of the same model. Get everything set up, I’ll be back in a moment."

Clarke slipped out of the art room and back into the area where they kept extra art supplies and rows upon rows of drying racks. She was lucky that the University was allowing her to run her sessions out of this room so cheaply, though she suspected her mom might’ve had something to do with it. The Dean was a family friend, father to Clarke’s best friend, Wells.

Brushing the thoughts away, she stepped out of her clothing and into a robe. Luckily she had already modeled tons of times before from the previous sessions, or else she’d be shaking in her proverbial boots. No room for self-consciousness, she thought.

When Clarke strutted back into the room, things got pretty quiet. She watched their reactions with a grin, eyes lingering on one slack-jawed Bellamy Blake. Clarke walked up onto the platform without hesitation, continuing everything like normal.

"Okay, I’m going to settle into a position and I’ll tell you when you can start. I’ll change every couple minutes, just try to get as much detail as you can. Any questions before we begin?"

As Clarke swung her head from side to side, she caught Bellamy’s gaze drinking in the skin of her exposed collarbone. His hand was poised and ready, holding a thick piece of charcoal. When she gave him a small smile, his eyes flicked up to meet hers and he grinned at her wolfishly.

Her first pose was basic, standing with her legs hip-width apart and her arms raised, crossed to drape over her head. She tilted her head to one side to keep and eye on the clock. She changed pose smoothly, next grabbing a chair and sitting cross-legged on it, curving her torso in a backbend over the back of the chair. After holding that for a couple minutes, she sat on the floor of the platform with her legs hugged to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Minutes ticked by slowly as her muscles began to ache, but she forced the strain to not show on her face.

A good portion of the class had passed before she called things to a stop, knowing her students likely needed the break too.

"Okay everybody, stop what you’re working on. We have a 10 minute break to stretch, so shake out your hands and I’m gonna get my blood flowing again," Clarke finished jokingly, snatching the robe from her desktop and wrapping it around herself.

Clarke walked around the room, taking in her students’ progress so far. She paused to give a word of advice or encouragement here and there, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at some of the more… abstract drawings of her. There was an old man in the back of the class whose drawing of her was particularly hilarious (he had a tendency to exaggerate the size of the genitalia and secondary sex characteristics of his models).

When she reached Bellamy’s seat, at the far left corner of the room, he was busy scrawling his signature at the edges of his trial sketches.

"Nice work," she said quietly, drawing his attention.

Bellamy’s head snapped up with a smile, a dark smudge of charcoal across his bottom lip and chin. “Thanks,” he replied smugly.

When she glanced at him again, he looked a little to proud of himself, a little too comfortable. Clarke collected herself, putting on her best teacher’s face.

"That being said, what did I tell you about refinement? It’s borderline sloppy; your lines are too concentrated on this half and your detail is too inconsistent. I expected better of you, Blake."

And with that, Clarke turned her back on him and marched back up to the front. Out of a mirror in the corner of the room, she caught his frustrated look and grinned. It’s nice to be in charge.

"Back to work, everyone," she announced, the room’s chatter dying quickly, all eyes back on her once again.

In one fluid movement, Clarke dropped her robe and laid it over her desk. She pulled a wooden box to the centre of the platform and sat her left hip down on the edge. She placed her left arm on the opposite side of the box, elbow slightly bent and gripping the edge. One leg was bent 90 degrees with ball of her foot pressed into the floor of the platform. The other she lifted to cross over her left, pointed sharply up into the air, just as her foot was pointed down to cross at her knee. Her free arm she rested on the raised knee, bent towards her bowed head with her fingers just lightly touching the crown of her skull.

Modeling had never felt so erotic for her before, but this time all she could feel was his eyes tracing her body. She chanced a look at him out of the corner of her sight, catching the sweep of his hand across the canvas. His fingers were black and his cheeks tinged with red, eyes never leaving her body. She shivered before looking straight ahead again.

Time passed in slow motion, and at some point she had the song Crazy in Love stuck in her head. She grit her teeth and told her mind to cut it out, seeping back into the serene mood of her pose. The sound of pencil and paintbrush sweeping across canvas soothed her, filling the air.

At long last, time was up and class was about to end. Clarke creaked to her feet and nearly groaned from the relief of standing up again. Toes tingling with numbness, she gave a small stretch.

"Alright! Show me your best. You can leave once I've talked to you since we're running short on time." Clarke clapped her hands together and eagerly made her way around the room. It felt nice to be nearly done her sessions, and she was looking forward to a long weekend of relaxation.

It wasn’t long before she made her way to Bellamy’s side of the class. Clarke’s eyes were immediately drawn to the large charcoal drawing that occupied his canvas. It was strange to see the way Bellamy saw her, and even stranger to register how much it turned her on.

"What d’ya think?" the boy asked, seemingly having kept an eye on her progress through the nearly empty room.

Clarke stepped closer to him, analyzing his drawing in greater detail. She pursed her mouth in an effort to keep from smiling, humming in consideration.

The drawing was messy and dark, composed of carnal, thick lines, a stark contrast to the pose she interpreted as delicate and refined. But it captured his mood and the pose perfectly, conveying a startling amount of emotion. For once, the one thing that irked her about Bellamy’s art was the thing that made this piece work.

"It’s… good. It’s actually pretty good,” Clarke said at last, unable to come up with a single line of criticism. “You’ve improved a lot, Blake.”

He grinned up at her with that look that made her want to slap him over the head, then glanced down to where her hand rested on his shoulder. Clarke startled and pulled her hand back, only to have Bellamy reach out and grab it.

"Thanks," he said, standing up and turning without letting go of her hand. "I had a good teacher."

Clarke's eyes widened slightly and her pulse quickened, hand frozen in his grip. "You... should probably go."

"Do you want me to?" Bellamy drew back slightly, eyes sincere.

Her gaze flickered from the smudge of charcoal still on his lip to the empty room around them. No one was left but the two of them, and yet the room felt full. Of what, she did not know.

"No."

It was barely more than a breath, a gentle exhale, but that was all it took. Before she finished the word they were leaning towards each other, her mind suspended in a free fall. His lips caught her easily, the kiss flowing from there. Soon his arms wrapped around her, one hand fixed on the side of her face and the other around the small of her back. She tangled her fingers behind his neck, reveling in the feeling.

He moaned as she tugged at his lower lip with her teeth, not bothering to be quiet. Her eyebrows drew together and she pulled at his hair to tell him to quiet down, but it elicited a louder sound from him instead. She pulled away and shot him a good-humored glare.

"What?" he asked, out of breath and smiling.

Clarke rolled her eyes and walked off in the direction of the door.

"Whoa, hey, don't go! What did I--" he closed his mouth as Clarke closed and locked the door, a look of realization dawning on his face. "Oh, sorry."

"Just shut up already, Blake." Once she got within arms reach of him again, he pulled her body close to hers and resumed the kiss where they left off. She sighed into it, having no idea how much she needed it. Her hands found themselves slipping underneath his shirt and over his abdomen, basking in the heat that radiated out of him.

Soon his hands dropped to hold her ass, prompting her to jump and wrap her legs around him. He guided her to the desk at the front, stubbing his toe along the way.

"Fucking hell," he mumbled against her lips as he set her down on the desktop.

Whether it was because he stubbed his toe or the way she was kissing him, Clarke didn't particularly care. She just laughed and started kissing down his neck, hands pulling at the hem of his shirt before he stopped her.

"You got a condom?" he asked, pulling away from her and looking her in the eye. 

"I thought you would," Clarke countered, exasperated at the interruption. 

Bellamy raised both eyebrows with a crooked grin. "Wait a second, you've actually thought about this?"

"Shut up," she said gruffly, brushing off the question with a short, rough kiss.

After pulling back, Clarke rook a second to catch her breath and think. Was she really going through with this? Alright, might as well go all out. "My place isn't too far from here," she began slowly, watching the rise and fall of his chest. "If you do want to come back with me and continue this..." Clarke leaned forward to whisper the next part. " _You can be as loud as you want_."

"I like how you think," he replied with a devilish grin, kissing her again, slow and sweet and full of promise. "Your place it is."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comment if you want a continuation! Find me on tumblr @ clarkegriffvn.tumblr.com :)


End file.
